


Dismantle the Sun

by himitsutsubasa



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Hale House Burnt Down But No One Was Hurt, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Food Porn, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Tags may contain spoilers, Werewolf Mates, decor porn, house porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-12 20:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2123445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/himitsutsubasa/pseuds/himitsutsubasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Peter's disappearances start becoming less of a sporadic action and more of a pattern, Chris follows Peter to a house in the woods and learns quite a bit about their resident sociopath.</p><blockquote>
  <p>“Even Derek knows and Derek is an idiot of the first degree.”</p>
  <p>“No one else seems to."</p>
  <p>“Then everyone is more ignorant than my darling nephew, Christopher. You all see but you do not observe.”</p>
  <p>“What are you doing down here, Peter?”</p>
  <p>“Why don’t you find out? If you insist on following me around, you will be here a few more days."</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Play It Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/862320) by [metisket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/metisket/pseuds/metisket). 



> Warning that this is the longest fic I have ever written for a show I've never seen and I didn't read over this to compare to canon before I posted. There will be mistakes. See endnotes for things that went wrong.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story. (Chapter 2 is all supplementary material.)

The autumn wind, sharp and cold, cut across his cheek as he stood on the side of the road. Below his feet, the land fell in a dramatic slope, flooded with trees and green. Hidden just behind some of those trees was a house of a dull brown.

There was nothing stark or amazing about it in appearance, just a cube cabin for one. From a distance, it looked relatively small, but was not a tiny cabin for short term use. Neither was it a large house for a languid vacation. It was the right size for one to stay in for several days at a time, perhaps even more than a week, without going stir crazy. When night came, the lights in the house would go on, and it would shimmer through the dimming curtains, signaling the world that there was someone home in a merry way. The owner would move about his business and Chris would watch.

It was his business to know the owner’s business.

Shielding his eyes from the glittering waters of the lake, Chris opened his notebook and took down what he had learned:

\+ six hour drive from home

\+ not lived in recently

\+ repeat customer? owner?

\+ quiet; deceptive or chosen?

It wasn’t much, but it was a good start for not having seen the man for a good half hour. Chris had followed the target from home, down long stretches of highway by GPS tracker, and then carefully, when his prey strayed beyond the length of his digital reach.  He’d taken care to keep the other car in his sight, especially as the car went onto a road that could only be considered off-road, while taking another trail further up the mountain. If it wasn’t for some trees toppling from age or decay, he may not have seen the house and or realized the destination.

Chris admired the view for a moment. He could see the appeal of the lake, secluded from most areas and not large enough to be considered a spot for tourism. It was, as he knew from a sign, private property, and when he went to the clerk’s office to look at public records later, he guessed he would find the land purchased over ten years ago in a family name. It was a lovely lake though, reflective, making the water an enormous mirror, and clear, cleaner and fresher than most. The fact such a shallow lake still had water in it, despite the lack of rainfall, made Chris wonder after magic and if there was a chance he had stumbled upon something he shouldn’t have, which made it his problem because it was his job to know about such things like magical lakes in the middle of nowhere.

Pulling his binoculars to his eyes, Chris spotted a figure moving along the water, male and strong. His target was out on a walk, shirtless and wet and altogether vulnerable.

Bold, but the man didn’t know he was being tracked. Chris rubbed his stubble. Unless the man knew he was being tracked and this was his warning? A proof of confidence in his abilities that he could move freely? An open target for any sniper? Well, this certainly wasn’t the weather for a sniper, but Chris knew a girl who could shoot this man dead with minimal effort.

The man kept going, dipping his toes in the water that washed up on the pebbly sanded shore. He looked pleasant, almost carefree. His face relaxed, more so than Chris had ever seen it, and his entire body swayed, like a reed with the wind in the afternoon. Smooth muscle under skin, the golden hue of the halo over his hair, a touch of dirt on his feet, Chris soaked in the sight.

Another cold wind cut across his face and Chris started. Back into the car and then to the town he thought. He needed a place to stay the night that wasn’t his car and he needed a discreet source of food if the man ever went to town. Chris took one last look at the shore, without his binoculars, and felt his heart fall at the sight of a figure disappearing into the trees.

* * *

Chris bit into his croissant, enjoying the warm, buttery crust. He had gotten up at six and started to stake out at seven. The sun had just settled into the sky and he knew from the upwind smell of bacon, faint but still tantalizing, that his target was awake and moving. All that was left was to watch and wait.

He spent about half an hour on the precipice, looking for any sign of movements. A few birds distracted him with their song, a bright and grating melody, but he put his earbuds in and turned the music to the lowest setting, enough to hear any loud noises. He figured, he wouldn’t need the loud if the rest of his morning was only going to be filled with bird song.

By the time, the first few songs finished, Chris loosened a little, maintaining view of the house, but watching less vigilantly. Clearly, the man inside had finished cooking, but whether he was going out that day remained to be seen.

It wasn’t particularly warm, or cold, which mean he was comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt. Chris found himself wondering why the man had run off to a house in the woods in first place. The target had shown no planning of the move, hadn’t moved any of his possessions or stopped his subscriptions to his monthly magazines.  Still, he hadn’t seen the man make any plans to leave, or tell anyone through any media, which wasn’t all so much unlike him, but a planned trip would have been announced at some point. It was all getting more and more interesting as he thought on it. Chris assumed the man would return in about two weeks’ time, quickly enough to intercept magazines before they made his house a target for robbery. 

But why? Chris had been monitoring all the man’s social interactions, been there for most of them, seen the man alone, and hadn’t found a clue to his mysterious up and going. It was only the increase in occurrence of these going’s that had alerted him to anything in the first place. Chris hummed with the tune of the next track, one of his daughter’s favorites.

Chris got into his car and headed down the mountain, taking his chances with a closer point of view. He reasoned with himself as he drove. There really was no point in going up that high when the only person who could and would disable the target was on a date with her boyfriend. Chris had always been more a hand-to-hand-combat or gun type. He used explosives, but he had developed an aversion to them after his sister. Long distance was his daughter’s forte, having inherited the beautiful and accurate eyes of her mother, rest her soul.

Argent’s are bred, not born.

Chris parked near the fork in the road, deep enough into the woods that no one would spot his car, but far enough from the house that the target couldn’t see or sense him.

Chris spent the rest of his morning alternately reviewing the paper and waiting for anything to happen. By afternoon, he grew tired and went out to stretch his legs. By evening, after returning from a long walk that made him a little angry that the target was not out to enjoy the changing colors of the leaves, the man had not left the house and Chris set up for the night. The spot he had chosen was good for camping, to an extent. He already had a cover in the town, a man just hoping to spend a few days communing with nature, very likely to reappear sometime soon. He appeared an amateur in their eyes, which meant less gossip and more laughter, perfect for that cover.

By morning, Chris still had no data to gather. Just a few notes:

\+ the target ate at odd hours, if at all

\+ lights are optional, like food

\+ if the target has been awake the entire time, the target is sleep deprived

\+ no movement in visible parts of the house

He drove back to the town to pick up more supplies and refresh his alibi. It wasn’t the perfect situation he thought, as he ate his own bacon, but it would be livable. He had gone through worse for less and this was going to turn out alright.

He returned to the site, cautious as he noticed a figure that kept a fair distance away through the tree line. He went up the mountain, past his original perch, and the figure followed. Near the top, it vanished, and Chris stopped the car, wondering. Was that his target? Or was it something more sinister?

* * *

He had pages of notes after three days. Most were musings of his own, about the target’s past and how this had escaped his notice. The rest were little tidbits he’d caught of the target moving about. Not that the target moved about much.

Chris put his notebook down and stared at the sheer number of question marks. This was easier back when his target was just a target and not a person he knew. Well, that was three years ago and getting to know the man was completely unavoidable so he would have to suck it up and deal.

He smelled something, the faintest wisp of bacon, and his gun was in hand.

A voice preened from the shadows. “Fancy meeting you here. Come often?”

Chris lowered his gun upon hearing the voice. Of course, only a man as arrogant, or stupid, as his target would approach an armed hunter.

Peter Hale smirked at him from his little alcove between two trees. The man well dressed, but not in his usual sense. He wore a worn, soft t-shirt and battered jeans, not artfully distressed, like his usual designer pair, but natural wear and tear. He looked like he had recently showered and if Chris knew anything about Peter Hale, there was hot water in the house.

“Not really. I’m out here tracking a wild animal.”

“Oh?” Hale’s lips curled around the word in a sensuous twist. His eyes narrowed and his gaze sharpened. Chris felt the desire to raise his gun again, but fought it, schooling his heart and his breathing.

Hale stalked forward, drawing ever closer to the car and Chris. “Did you find it?”

Chris let his face slip into the dangerous smile he had practiced in the mirror until it had looked just right. He had tested it on the Sheriff, actually been told to stop because it made him “look like he was death in leather and denim” according to the Sheriff’s son. “I don’t know. Have you seen one?”

Hale took in the face, a little impressed, but not very. “Get off my land, Argent.”

Mimicking his light tone, Chris replied, “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

Hale rolled his eyes, the drama queen, and actually looked a little annoyed. “I’m only out here as a curtesy. I’ve a phone and captain’s number.”

Chis smiled a little more brightly. “I’ve had lunch with the captain. He thinks I’m a middle aged camper who wants to get his life back in order by communing with nature.”

“He bought that?” Hale practically purred at the idea.

Chris stared into the green eyes and hummed, “Yes.”

Hale grinned, primal and wolfish, if he would let the cliché slide. “Then he would believe me if I gave him your body and told him an animal mauled it.”

Chris smirked, just a show of confidence to throw the man off. “I’m too important for you to do that, Hale.”

If the man was displeased with Chris for calling his bluff, he didn’t show it. Instead, he seemed to be seriously weighing his options. For a moment, he raked his eyes up and down Chris’ body, resting on his face, neck, chest and crotch. The hunter would have been mildly pleased by the attention if it hadn’t been a search for weak spots, and had been performed by someone other than a werewolf.

“Alright then.” Hale shrugged, turning back into the woods. “Feel free to join me.”

Chris tried to process what he had just heard. “What?”

“You must be losing your hearing in your old age, Argent.” Hale tossed a ‘come hither’ look over his shoulder. “I said, feel free to join me. You look like you could use a hot shower, not that I don’t like the rugged look.”

Chris tried not to take the back handed compliment as an insult, which meant he would have to avenge his honor sometime soon and he was getting a little old for that, and got into his car.

“I think I’ll join you.”

He wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. Three years ago, well, three months ago, he would have turned the offer down with Argent steel. Three years ago, he would have shot the wolf and buried the carcass.

He followed the figure into the woods.

* * *

The house was prettier up close, and this close, he could see it was definitely built in the fashion of the Hale Mansion, if only a bit smaller and more modern. It was sleek wood, blending into the backdrop, but still standing out. The entire side, the one facing the water, was glass. It was glass and wood and Chris loved it.

The house was farther out from the water than he thought, about five hundred feet farther. He could see the glittering water between the trees, but it was a fair distance down a hill to the shore, probably for safety. Hale went into the house and the garage door opened, revealing a room attached to the house, probably underneath.

Chris parked his Hummer next to the sleek Tesla, taking note that there wasn’t an armory in the garage, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one in the house, and followed with his duffle bag through the open front door.

The inside was the same as the outside and very much like Peter Hale. It was modern, smooth wood naturally colored and bent into the floor and steps. A few rugs of fur and squares of carpet lay tastefully to set an area space. The furniture was new, but maintained the minimalist feel of the home. It was creamy white, with darker wood and chrome accents. The table, much to Chris’ surprise was a topographical wood base filled with glass. If he guessed, it was the very lake outside, because Peter was that kind of posh bastard.

The wolf led him through the living room, around a corner to what he considered a kitchen, bar, and breakfast nook, then up a flight of stairs to rooms. The first was empty, and Hale mentioned that, but guided Chris to the one across the hall, one that faced the water.

The room was green, a soft, sea foam green that danced in the light and made Chris fee a little dizzy with its gentleness. He had expected something harsher, darker. But it was light and a stark contrast to the dark wood that made up the frame of the bed and the bedside table. The desk matched and Chris started wondering if Peter had raided Ikea, but everything looked more expensive than that. The quilt was a diamond pattern of greens and yellows, mottled like the forest floor.

“This is yours. The sheets are turned and there is a bathroom,” he gestured to a door, dark wood like the rest. Chris nodded, dropping his duffle bag on the floor. He thanked whatever deity that watched over him that the sound of his guns hitting the floor was muffled. Hale nodded and walked him down the rest of the hall.

“There is my room.” He gestured to the door at the very end of the hall. “Knock.”

Chris nodded, looking down the hall to make sure he knew where everything was. The wolf walked away and Chris took that as a dismissal. He returned to his room, not touching anything save the hardwood floor for fear of offending some senses, probably the maid’s because the house was spotless and Peter Hale wasn’t the kind to clean anything without being told.

* * *

The shower was deliciously delightful once he figured out all the buttons. Leave it to Peter Hale to install one of the most complex systems in the world in his guest shower. But, once Chris got the temperature (available in Celsius or Fahrenheit) and the pressure (he completely ignored high school physics so the symbols might as well be magic runes) right, it was bliss.

He toweled off using one of the soft, white towels provided and lingered in the warm steam and scent of coconut, before turning on the silent air vent.

He could smell something sweet in the house, like cinnamon buns, as he dressed in dark jeans and a  long sleeved shirt. He wondered if Peter was cooking something for them both, actual dinner because, as a glance to his watch told him, it was nearing six and Chris hadn’t had lunch.

Instead of heading straight down, Chris decided to check his electronics, just in case he would need anything. No bars, but he would be able to skype if he could just get Hale to give him the wifi password.

As he padded down the stairs, he got a better look at the home. It was filled with strange little things, things that Hale wouldn’t have kept in his apartment or at the Hale House.

For one, at the top of the stairs, there was a painting, splatters of ink it looked like, but Chris could read the signature at the bottom and it was a Claudia Stilinski original, dated 1997. The whole way down was alternately lined with framed black and white inks, her later work, and crisp paintings of leaves and forests in green, gold and blue, her earlier paintings. Each one was a canvass block so covered in paint it looked three dimensional.

Almost knocking one over, Chris realized what lay underneath, pictures of the Hales, Talia and Kevin at their wedding specifically. Chris hastily put in painting back in place, hoping he wasn’t heard. Peter hadn’t appeared around the bend, or at his side, so he guessed the wolf was distracted by what smelled like steak.

Walking into the living room, Chris glanced over most of the items until one caught his attention. It was a wood block on a side table, small and relatively unimportant compared to the sea glass globe next to it, but the words on the block caught his eye.

“Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-même.”

He remembered Allison, hurt but proud, saying those words. It had been years ago and the words had become part of him, part of his code. He thought of her, waiting for his call while he dawdled staring at a block of wood.

“She told me.”

Chris turned to see Hale, more rumpled from his time in the kitchen, tossing a towel over his shoulder. The wolf stepped down from the small step that separated the dining room from the rest of the floor. Now that he noticed it, there was really only the semblance of privacy between the kitchen and the room he was in. A large sheet of frosted glass stood between them and if Chris guessed right, Hale had seen him wander towards the block with intent.

“When?”

Hale shrugged. “Sometime before she left for university.”

He slipped past Chris and picked up the block, long fingers precariously balancing it. He turned it over, walking to Chris, eyes on the carvings. Chris took if from him when it was proffered, studying the sides. It was a fairly large cube, about six inches on each side and silver embossed. One side was Allison’s code; the opposite, the Argent seal. He flipped it on its side. The Hale family triskele stared back at him. On the other side, he read something in Latin.

He glanced up at Hale. The wolf stared back for a moment as the ancient wheels churned in Chris’ head.

“Venatores sumus, non interfectores. We are hunters, not killers?”

Hale gave him a flat look. “Ancestors. Not all of us can choose our family mottos.”

Chris was sure he’d heard Derek mutter it repeatedly under his breath an entire meeting once (Scott had been especially dense that day, talking out of turn despite being the lowest ranking beta), but he’d never seen it in Latin. He’d assumed it was just something Talia had told her son to keep him in line.

“I like it.” The last faces were blank, smooth to the touch and pale like the moon.

Hale smiled as Chris reached behind him to place the block back on the table, drawing closer to the wolf and invading his personal space. The wolf sniffed at his neck, making Chris still.

“You used the soap?” Hale sounded amused and very interested in the idea of a hunter using his soap. Chris wondered for a moment, if he had crossed an unspoken barrier. Perhaps it was a Hale thing, though why the family soap would be coconut was beyond his comprehension.

“I forgot mine.” Chris stepped back, putting more space between them. The wolf was smiling unsettlingly and watching him.

“Well, that’s a shame.”

Chris nodded.

Hale’s eyes narrowed and his face composed into its usual veneer. He walked back the kitchen. “Talia and the others must be wondering what you’re doing. Steak? Rare or well done?”

“Medium.” Chris followed lightly, still loud compared to his furry companion. “Do you have a phone?”

Hale gestured off to a side. “Right by the hour glass.”

Chris looked around the kitchen, black marble and dark wood, until he saw an hour glass. It was strange looking, dripping some sort of spiky black fluid. It was strange and very disconcerting.

“What is this?”

Peter glanced up from where he had tossed a steak into a pan. “One of Patrick’s science toys; it’s magnetic fluid. Don’t touch it. It’s toxic.”

Chris watched the spinning spikes as he picked up the phone. He was very happy to note that the metallic spikes were hidden behind glass and therefore less likely to poison him.

He waited for the dial tone. How they got service out here was a wonder to him, though he recalled seeing something like an antenna outside. The signal was probably boosted with magic, if the eldest Hale son had anything to do with it. Magic wasn’t enough for the kid; no, he had to be a scientist too.

He dialed and waited for the crackle of someone picking up.  “Allison.”

A clear voice echoed across the line. “Dad? Did you find him? What’s he doing? Has he killed anyone?”

If Hale had heard her, he didn’t react and the drama queen would have reacted. “I found him and not that I’m aware of. He’s making me a steak.”

Peter called out at that. “I can’t have our resident hunter starving now, can I? Talia would skin me and I rather like keeping this flawless perfection where it is.”

Allison laughed. “He sounds okay.”

Chris smiled into the receiver, imagining her sitting on the couch, doing her nails and talking to him. “His is. How are you?”

“Same old. College is less fun than you made it out to be.”

“Since when have I lied to you about anything?”

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “My hamster, dad. I will never forget that.”

“Okay, Sparky was not my fault.”

They went on for a bit, her telling him how everyone was seriously curious about what the creepiest Hale was up to and him giving her covert hints to where he was and what he knew.

Allison huffed into the phone when he told her about how not-Peter the house was. “I’ll tell Alpha Hale she can stop worrying that he has some squeeze on the side.”

Chris was… actually surprised that that was Talia’s initial reaction. “Was that ever an option?”

“Not really, but there was hope in her eyes. Bye, dad. Update me?”

He chuckled into the phone thinking about the idiots, not that they weren’t lovable idiots, she had to deal with. “Yeah, keep ‘em in line. Love you.”

“Love you.” Click.

Hale took the moment to chime in. “Good talk?”

Chris put the receiver down and turned. “Yeah, nobody died.”

“It’s always a good day when nobody dies.” Hale plated the steaks next to a bed of vegetables and Chris noticed that there was a setting for two at the counter. “Or when I don’t have to clean it up.”

“Sounds like you to keep your hands clean.” He sat and stared at the thick steak on the plate. He wondered if it was a Peter-specific idea of dinner. And, he thought glancing at Peter’s stack of medium rare meat, if werewolves actually consumed that much protein. He remembered there were two turkeys at the Hale Thanksgiving dinner, but there had been a full house of them.

Hale pulled the towel off his shoulder and wiped his hands. “A good chef always does. Open the wine. It needs to breathe for a few minutes.”

Chris obligingly popped the cork on the red and inhaled the smooth scent. He was more of a beer man, but seeing the way dinner was shaping up, wine would be much better.

Hale busied himself checking the oven, and making sure whatever was inside was still doing well. Then he sat beside Chris, far enough to make passing the wine bottle difficult, but close enough to hand a full glass easily. Hale inhaled the aroma of the wine the way the sommelier showed Chris the one time he visited a vineyard and gave a breathy sigh.

“2001 Cabernet from Villa de Esperanza.” Hale sipped the red liquid with pleasure. “I was right. It’s much richer than the 2004.”

Chris looked dubiously at the wine in his glass. “You must be patting yourself on the back.”

He sipped it and oh. He understood completely. It was a full wine, a little tannic, but perfect with spicy peppery tones. He could just imagine it with the steak.

“You’re doing that just fine.” Chris stifled whatever noise he had been making, instead turning to his food and eating. Hale started slicing the first steak, taking pieces into his mouth as he went.  Chris watched, and though he didn’t think delicate was a word to use with Peter Hale, more suited to words like destructive and sarcastic, he couldn’t find a better way to describe the way the man ate. It was like they were in a restaurant where anything less than a suit jacket meant getting turned away at the door. Thinking about it, Chris realized that that was exactly the kind of place where Hale would eat.

Back to the mission. Enough playing nice.

“Do you come down often?”

Hale, who had somehow managed to inhale half a steak already, finished chewing before speaking. “This isn’t a date, Christopher. Why?”

“Curiosity.” Partially.

Hale sniffed, so he had probably passed the lie test. “More like my meddling sister. I wasn’t lying when I said she would skin me alive if you starved.”

Chris speared a piece of meat. No, Hale was not going to derail him into a discussion of how Talia Hale was better as an alpha than a sister. “You haven’t answered my question.”

Hale gave him a disparaging look. “Even Derek knows and Derek is an idiot of the first degree.”

Even Derek knows. Chris made a note to see what else Derek knew because the kid seemed more informed than Deaton, and scratch that everyone was more informed than Deaton, even Isaac and that winter fairy child knew nothing.

“No one else seems to,” he said, spearing some vegetables. Hale really had gone all out with a honey glaze that was a little spicy.

Hale sighed, long suffering and tired. “Then everyone is more ignorant than my darling nephew. You all see but you do not observe.”

Chris wasn’t sure if he was supposed to dignify the quote with a response. He sipped his wine instead. “What are you doing down here Peter?”

Hale smiled, more than a quirk of the lips, a true smile, and said, “Why don’t you find out? If you insist on following me, you will be here a few more days.”

Hale glanced at the clock and muttered something to himself, before getting up to empty the oven. Chris ate quietly, admiring the fact the wolf had managed to eat and talk the entire time. He finished off his glass of wine, enjoying the finishing notes to what truly was a sumptuous meal. Five stars to the wolf.

Hale pulled out a tray of melting cookies, round balls almost, save that they were a little flat and indented at the center. Hale caught his eye and started stacking them in a cone formation on a plate.

“Caramel snicker doodles.”

“Would you have just eaten these if I hadn’t shown up? It looks delicious.” And diabetes inducing, but he wasn’t about to say that when he could be eating those. Chris turned his tone to something easier and inappropriate for the kind of relationship they shared.

Hale glanced at him, reading into his eyes. “Try one and find out.”

Chris picked one off the plate. He had smelled something sweet the second day, so he figured that they were fairly popular with the wolf. Part of him wondered if the reason why Hale had two dozen cookies was his appearance in the idyllic life. He took a bite and waited.

Hunters had refined palettes bred into them, taking from culinary students as well as master tradesmen in their education. He had learned at a young age to differentiate between different spices and herbs, always useful when a witch appeared with a mixture of leaves. His own mother had been a master chef and baker, when not killing vampires, as was her specialty.

His tongue felt the texture first, a little gritty sugar and then the slightly rough and firm texture of the cookie. Then cinnamon and sugar spice and sweetness, hit him. As he chewed, he felt the melted caramel, hot but not scalding, touch his tongue. It was a little less sweet than the cookie, not overpowering, but also rich and creamy, a deep warm note at the center.

Surprising to say the least.

Hale smirked at him, clearly pleased to have caught the hunter flat footed even if it was by baking, which Chris didn’t count as a category of competition. “Good?”

“Very. Where did you learn to bake like this?”

“Bachelor uncle to six children.” He gave Chris, not the significant look which he understood was a Hale habit, but The Significant Look, which meant he had been conversing with Allison beyond the purchase of prom dresses and gifts for werewolf boyfriends. “You have to learn to entertain them one way or another.”

Chris didn’t really understand, since Kate had never had children and while Victoria had siblings, none of them wanted anything to do with the hunter lifestyle, and so kept a wide berth. He guessed that was part of the hunting life too. Family was lost and made quickly and abruptly, and at each point estranged and roughened by scars.

Chris finished the cookie. It was tough to breach on the outside, but soft and squishy on the inside. He wondered if that was supposed to be a metaphor for how Hale would be in the coming days.

No. Chris watched the man’s hands move carefully over the stand, placing everything with care. Hale was like the wine, peppery, sharp and intoxicating. Chris would figure out his finer notes, develop a taste for them eventually. He had a jumping off point at least, deep warmth and burn.

Hale took the display and gestured for Chris to follow him onto the veranda.

Cold, brisk air met his skin as he stepped outside and Chris almost regretted not taking a jacket, though it wasn’t nearly as cold as it would have to be to warrant one. Hale, still sporting the soft t-shirt from before, didn’t appear phased, rather switching seamlessly from wine to coffee, reminding Chris to be careful. Wolves didn’t get drunk, hunters did.

Hale nibbled on one of the cookies, motioning with a graceful hand in the general direction of the water. Chris looked out and felt the air leave his chest.

The sun just barely touched the skyline but turned the sky into a blood nonetheless. The soft clouds, some not stained pure red, glowed gold, the color of beta eyes. And just above, he saw the sky turning dark blue, almost black velvet. And faintly, he thought, studded with diamond stars.

“Worth all three million dollars.”

Chris faintly registered the words before they smashed into him. Three million dollars, just a dip in the metaphorical pond for the Hales if Chris had the numbers right. He couldn’t help but wonder why Hale would share that with him.

“Showing off the family assets?” Chris took another cookie. Damn those were good.

“Talia told me to seduce you into the fold.”

“You’re going to have to work harder.” Chris Argent was not a cheap date. Despite having never been on a date and having married Victoria immediately in an arranged marriage, he knew he wasn’t a cheap date.  That and he never put out on the first date because what if the girl was a mythological creature of some sort. Really awkward to explain to the family.

“Oh? Is that a challenge?” Of course, Hale would make that sound like an illicit drug sale.

Chris finished a cookie, his last if his brain would just get that message. “We have a few days. Why don’t you find out?”

It wasn’t his last. They sat out on the veranda for another hour watching the sun set until Chris felt the idea of a chance to actually enjoy a good night’s rest, on the Hale tab, appeal more than the strange cookies that were probably infused with a drug of some kind because around the seventh, he started thinking they tasted like magic.

“Good night.”

The wolf didn’t move, staring thoughtfully as the sun dipped behind some mountains and let the moon and stars begin their reign. 

“Good night.”

* * *

Breakfast was good, though this time around the werewolf chef was nowhere to be found.

Chris had gotten up at six, old habit, and started moving about around six-thirty, once he realized he wanted coffee. He’d gone for a short run in the forest by the lake, taking in the view and fresh air as well as scouting, before returning at seven-thirty. By eight, he had showered and was on his first cup of coffee (the drip really was worth it). By nine, he’d made a breakfast of eggs in bell peppers (Allison’s favorite), bacon, and toast. He had an apple and a put off eating a few more cookies until the afternoon.

He ate slowly and alone, waiting for the wolf to appear. Hale never did.

Chris went about the living room, poking here and there and taking photos with his phone. He wrote down everything about the house that was distinctly not-Peter. It was glass, it was metal, it was green. It was enough to make Chris uncomfortable

He may have been a little scathing. The house, no matter how pretty, wasn’t Chris’ aesthetic. And, despite not knowing Hale very well, he knew enough about the man’s tastes to know this wasn’t Hale’s decorating taste. The house was shared, likely with the rest of the family but mostly Patrick if some of the things in the house had any indication, even if they rarely stopped by.

Chris didn’t have anything to do the rest of the morning, other than wander around the forest. He didn’t even have plans in the afternoon. He watched a shadow drift across the floor as a few clouds entered the sky. This was shaping up to be just as boring as waiting for a sign outside. He’d already explored the kitchen. Other than an amazing amount of food (probably for the wolf, though it could easily feed a wolf and a human) and a cookbook (he found it equal parts Peter’s neat handwriting and Patrick’s life-hacks), there wasn’t much. He hadn’t noticed the night before, but the cutting board had the periodic table printed on it.

Chris wandered back into the kitchen and to the back of the house. There was a staircase, leading down to the floor below, with the garage and another room if he guessed correctly. The wall beside him went from glass to wood and soon he only had the sunlight filtering over the edge to illuminate his way. At the bottom of the steps, Chris paused. Peter hadn’t shown him this area, may have thought Chris wouldn’t be interested. Or, more likely, didn’t want to talk about it for Hale reasons.

Chris listened carefully, through the wooden door. The door was heavy, but that meant, in all likelihood, that if Peter was on the other side, he didn’t know Chris was there. To knock or not to knock?

Chris rapped his knuckles more willing to take an exasperated wolf than a scared one at close quarters. He’d seen Hale’s rap sheet. He wasn’t going to deal with that.

No answer.

Chris tested the handle. Unlocked. It might as well be an invitation.

Chris paused, readying for something to jump out and tackle him. He opened the door.

The faint smell of paper hit him first, followed by something sweet, like vanilla. Chris reached into the room and flicked on the lights, doing a one-man sweep. There were books everywhere. Not just lining the walls in shelves, some behind glass and temperature controlled if he was seeing the settings band right, but in the tables and chairs. Quite literally in the tables and chairs.

He looked carefully at the room, taking in the more playful aesthetic. It was minimalist like before, but more colorful and inviting. He saw low shelves at each end of a sheet of glass, making tables, and chairs that had little slots cut into the wood for books. The chairs themselves had little labels on them: fiction, non-fiction, art, science.

Chris closed the door behind him. This was the Hale library. The books in the chairs, he thought as he wandered over, were all very human. Vonnegut and Chaucer stared back at him.

Chris wandered further back into the room, where there was no central lighting. Amazingly, little paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, only lighting up as he walked past the stacks.  Efficient, he guessed, to have motion sensors. The books on the shelves were similar to the others, modern binding and crisp new pages. Except… the books were old, or copies of the old. Chris recognized an archaic version of French and what may have been Russian, though it was certainly Cyrillic.

With a start he realized what the room was, a back-up facility.

Three million dollars. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He’d assumed that the land and the house were three million, but what if that was the house alone? The land would cost more than that if the lake was purchased (as Hale had been hinting at) along with it. The house, well, two million would suffice if he remembered correctly. That left one million dollars to use on this place.

And what better way to use it than to fortify it?

Chris turned back to the panel by the door and got a closer look. It wasn’t just a light switch. Right next to it was a small touch screen. As he ran his finger over it, the screen lit up with settings for light, temperature, moisture, ventilation.

There was a panic button. Chris looked around the room spotting the telltale vents. The room didn’t take up all that much space under the house, despite being huge. That meant that there would be suction somewhere, a way to suck out all the oxygen. No air, no fire.

God, they had really learned after Kate.

Chris glanced around and guessed that if he stole a few pieces of paper and had it tested, it would be reinforced to prevent yellowing and deterioration. This library was meant to preserve everything in case of an emergency or disaster. This was definitely Patrick’s idea. He was the resident Hale scholar and the books were his life. He would be the one to go on and preserve it all.

Chris suddenly felt like he had violated something sacred. This was Hale history. All the books and papers and folders. It was the Hale’s testament to surviving and flourishing despite everything that could go wrong. Chris backed away and out the room, flicking off the lights as he went.

Going back to the kitchen, he breathed a sigh of relief. He wouldn’t mention it. Not to anyone ever. This would be his secret with the Hales. They trusted him as a hunter advisor to the clan. He trusted them as the most stable pack in the area. They would make it work.

Chris felt a wave of nausea overtake him as he thought about what might have happened if everything went wrong. What if Kate had managed to burn the Hale house to the ground? Only Laura, Derek, and Peter would have survived. Laura and Derek wouldn’t hurt too much for pack as long as they had one another, but Peter? Peter as an alpha would be good and bad. He would definitely be good at the job, but Chris had seen turning alpha change people. It had changed Talia from the amiable, young woman he knew in his early years to the distant, hardened matriarch he knew now.

Oh, god, what if Laura became alpha instead? It was Peter’s right, but what if he hadn’t made it? She had decent control now, but ten years ago was a different story. She would have probably hidden them, but it would have been controlling and painful for Laura and Derek.

Derek? Oh, Chris shuddered at the thought. The family coddled the man more than was necessary, only having Chris around the last five years stopped it from getting any worse than it was. Derek could make his own decisions now and often had a better plan than most of his family, with the help of a certain teenager, but that was irrelevant. 

Chris tried to calm himself, remembering the rest of the pack.

While the hale pack hadn’t turned anyone in a few generations, they had made an effort this one, mostly to placate a moping Derek. Jackson was a wolf-born no matter what, so he would have found the pack anyway. Erica. If Derek was around, she still would have been saved. He would have smelled her sadness and given her a new life. Boyd. The boy might not have turned, but there was a high chance. Isaac. Chris knew for a fact that Isaac would have died if he hadn’t been turned and he didn’t want to think further on the subject.

Scott. Very likely Scott would have suffered from an asthma attack like last time, only for Derek to step in and save him. The kid was a reluctant beta now, but better off than if he had been changed against his will. Stiles though. Stiles would follow Scott and no matter what, Stiles would help the wolves.

He breathed a little easier knowing that there was very little that could mess up the pack. They had a fair balance of power and only the act of a horrible, and probably useless, god could make it worse.

The thought calmed him. Yes, it could have been worse, but it wasn’t. In fact, everything was just peachy. Chris sat in one of the chairs by the counter. Everything would be alright.

He closed his eyes and breathed slowly, in and out, for what seemed like forever. He wasn’t like Stiles. He didn’t get panic attacks. He just had a vivid imagination and most of the time he controlled it. Today was just an off day. He would move on and survive.

Chris looked up. A glass sat by his arm, condensation pooling at the base. When had that gotten there?

He looked around the room and saw no one. Likely though, Hale had gotten him the glass. The wolf had walked in, seen him, and walked right back out, but not before ensuring that Chris would be okay. Chris drank the water and breathed.

He reached over to the plate for a cookie, only to feel counter top.

+1pm. The only time Hale makes an appearance. Assumed, not seen.

\+ Hale likes sugar.

* * *

Chris had lunch, sandwiches of cold cuts and cheese and a plate of vegetable sticks. Hale still didn’t appear. Chris made another sandwich, and another, and another, before putting them all on a plate and bringing it upstairs with a pickle and some chips. He tossed in a can of soda and glass of water for good measure. He left it outside the door to Hale’s room, knocked, told the wolf what was waiting outside, and went about his business, mostly watching on his tablet in the living room.

Well, he had a nice, big house and according to Hale, several days to enjoy it. Therefore, he was going to have a lazy day and go explore the forest more the day after.

After what may have been three episodes of Breaking Bad, he checked his messages. Nothing from the pack. He watched another episode of Breaking Bad, officially wrapping up season seven, as he decided what he wanted for dinner. Hale hadn’t made an appearance, so Chris figured he would be making dinner this time around.

He stopped by upstairs and found a tray, empty save for the bag of chips and kitchenware, waiting for him.

“I’m not room service.” Chris took the tray anyway.

He looked over the cookbook one more time, admiring the neat handwriting. It was like his school teacher’s in elementary. It was neat little lines, all perfectly aligned, and not a stroke out of place.

The most worn pages were the ones with meat and a lot of it. Wolves liked meat. Chris figured he couldn’t go wrong with cheese-stuffed burgers. 

He spent a good hour getting the tenderizing the meat, stuffing it, and readying it for the stove grill thing the kitchen had going on. He’d added the Argent secret ingredient, guaranteed to make his burgers filling. He didn’t have to worry about buns; the pantry had three kinds of bread, one of which was buns. He didn’t think on how long Hale planned on staying with that much bread. Chris realized that, in all likelihood, the wolf would eat more once he got out of his hermit state. It made him a little more nervous. How long though?

He double checked the pantry, discovered a wine storage unit, and found beer. Of course, artisan beer, the rich kid stuff. He guessed Peter liked it for the taste. Chris also found imported Coca Cola, the stuff with real sugar in it. Oh, Peter definitely had the best taste buds of the Hales. He got some ramekins for desert (he wasn’t going to let Hale beat him on that front.) and started preparing the batter, quick work.

He got the rest of the cheese ready, tossed the burgers on the grill and started actually cooking. It had been a while since he’d last grilled anything. Usually Derek or the Sheriff got that honor, but tonight he had the grill cooking juicy burgers that were making his mouth water and readying for a wolf to come eat the lion’s share.

While he waited, he sliced some potatoes, drizzled olive oil over the top, added a few spices and salt to taste, and popped a tray of four potatoes into the oven. Bam, it was the equivalent of making fries, according to Patrick.

Fifteen minutes, the burgers were plated, the potatoes taken out of the oven, and drinks placed on the bar still in bottle. Chris looked at the spread, proud of himself. It wasn’t a gourmet meal like Peter would have made, but it was good and guaranteed to keep the wolf alive until they got back to Beacon Hills.

“Hale! Food!” He didn’t say, “Get your furry ass down here and eat.” He waited a few moments before he heard the sound of feet on the steps.

Peter Hale appeared around the glass, clearly following his nose. When his eyes opened, he smirked.

“Why, Mr. Argent. I didn’t know you cooked.”

Chris tossed the towel on the counter and washed up. The oven was off and the cakes were ready, just cooling and clinging to residual heat. Chris had gotten the raspberries and cream ready in the meanwhile, waiting for it to settle in the fridge. “I’ve got to feed myself.”

Hale leaned in closer, into Chris’ space, smelling him. “What do we have here? Beef burgers, with sharp cheddar and mozzarella.” The wolf sniffed again. “French fries, though I don’t see any oil. Hm… I smell chocolate.”

“Werewolves eat chocolate.” It came out as more of a question than a statement, drawing a raised eyebrow from where Peter seemed to be trying to get closer to his neck.

“Cora would be dead otherwise.” The wolf got one last sniff before backing away. “I’m not sure what, but there’s something there…”

Chris internally smiled at that. He hadn’t done anything to the burgers, other than cook them slightly differently, so Hale’s face would be worth it.

The wolf took a beer and Chris took the coke.

“Not up to another round of drinks?” Hale’s face turned into a wry grin, mischievous and dark. He was back to his usual self and Chris wondered what Hale was doing, especially when Chris hadn’t seen him at all that day.

Chris smirked. “I haven’t had these since I was in school. Cut an old man some slack.”

“That’s one way to make you feel young.” Peter picked up the burger and took a bite. Chris had expected Hale to break out the silver ware, but clearly the wolf was not that uppity.

The moan he heard, before it was viciously squashed was worth the nervousness in his chest. Peter Hale, high-maintenance connoisseur of all things food, moaned at his burger. The wolf seemed torn between saying something and taking another bite. Clearly, speaking won out.

“Congratulations, Argent, you’ve surprised me.” The wolf licked his lips slowly and took another bite, this time more patient, more willing to pause and taste. It looked like porn the way Hale’s face went, lusting and wanting, but utterly satisfied with each movement of his mouth.

“I’d say I did more than that.” Chris tucked that little morsel away to analyze later.

Chris was pleased to note that Hale had picked up another, the reason why Chris made four of them. “Think you can do it again?”

Chris thought on dessert. His mother’s recipe had never failed him. “I plan on it.”

Chris ate, watching Hale eat and savor. He supposed the wolf’s taste buds were more accurate than a human’s, made to taste more carefully for toxins that could kill wolves or humans.

Hale’s tongue flicked out to lick the pad of his finger and Chris took the moment to notice the fine grain. Yeah, definitely better at tasting. Chris went back to eating wondering if that was why all of them were such finicky eaters, and what that meant if Peter had almost keeled over from a bite of one of his burgers. His family had been going about it all wrong. Instead of hunting the wolves, they should have just fed them good food to incapacitate them. Much easier to do in an urban setting and less costly than bullets. Okay, Chris knew how to win his next negotiation. Feed them.

Hale’s eyes lit up at the sight of the potatoes. Chris watched, searching for a reaction. The potato crunched as Peter pried off a piece and popped it into his mouth.

Peter smiled. He actually smiled, before turning it into the same wry twist of his lips. Chris knew. “I’m afraid I have to say Patrick makes them better.”

“I will have to ask him for tips then.”

Peter seemed to be caught flat footed with that. Chris realized what he said. He wasn’t pack and his mission had been covert, just to make his daughter more comfortable. Talia had only gotten involved when he asked her for permission. Patrick wouldn’t know. Patrick wasn’t supposed to know.

The wolf stilled himself and the meal continued in silence.

Chris finished eating and watched as Hale took the last burger down with a more restraint than he had the second. “Dessert?”

The wolf nodded around a mouthful. Chris got up and pulled the cakes out of the oven. They had been still a little undercooked when he’d turned off the stove, but the residual heat had finished the job. He dusted the powdered sugar and placed the ramekins on the plates. Then, he added just a dollop of whipped cream and a few raspberries over the top. It was perfect. Hale finished eating and sipped on his beer. When Chris slid a plate over to him, Hale raised an eyebrow.

“Lava cake.” Hale’s eyes narrowed, judgmental. Challenge accepted then.

The wolf daintily took a bite and seemed to melt a little, despite all attempts to hold himself up. He quickly composed himself. “It’s good.”

“Your family would like it?” A flash in Hale’s eyes, suspicion.

“Yes.” Maybe he could bribe the rest of the Hale’s with chocolate. Who knew?

 “I think Talia is going to make me come to pack meetings after this.”

Hale’s eyebrows drew up. “She asked?”

“Allison thought so.” And of the Argents, Allison was the most observant when she had a clear head. He did not regret getting her the Kate Bishop custom bow at all.

They settled into silence. Funny how so much of their lives was dictated by the women around them, leaders and alphas alike. Eventually, Chris heard the telltale scratch of a spoon on ceramic and collected the dishes, putting them in the washer.

Hale stretched, muttering something under his breath. Not loud enough for Chris to hear, but loud enough to intrigue. “Good night, Chris.”

No guarantee of running into each other in the morning. Chris listened carefully, even following Hale a little up the stairs. The man went into his bedroom and suddenly the house was more silent than it was before.

Chris went back to the kitchen. It was eight in the evening and Hale had returned straight to his room. It wasn’t like werewolves hibernated. The man couldn’t possibly be sleeping away every day. Hale was playing an angle. He was doing something up there.

+he’s doing something and I don’t know what it is

+I’m going to find out.

* * *

Surprisingly, Hale did appear at breakfast. And then lunch, and made dinner.

(“No more alcohol,” Chris said, putting his foot down when Hale tried to empty a bottle of wine into Chris’ glass.

Hale had simple smirked, pouring the rest into his own glass. Chris wondered if the wolf was an alcoholic. An alcoholic who couldn’t get drunk without powdered wolfsbane.)

He disappeared in between. Then he appeared in between. He had breakfast with Chris and, on the fifth day Chris spent at the house, joined Chris on a walk by the water before heading back to the house. Chris wandered along the shore for another five minutes before walking back with intent in his strides. He found the forest empty, but there was a figure in the house.

Chris pulled out his binoculars form where they had been hastily stowed in his pocket that morning under the pretense of bird watching. Peter was not moving about the house, but ten minutes later Chris saw a figure moving down the steps. Peter had changed into sweatpants that hung low on his hips and shirt in hand. The wolf proceeded to lie on the floor and do yoga. Or what looked like yoga, but really could have been a series of stretches, before settling on the couch and not moving.

Chris peered into his binoculars. Peter was sprawled over the large and, Chris had to admit, comfortable couch. It looked like the shirt was over Peter’s face, blocking out sunlight.

Chris stepped back into the forest trying to process it all. Peter was napping in sunlight, in what would probably cause a bad tan if wolves had to deal with that (and if Isaac’s fair skin was any testament, no they didn’t), willingly.

First, he had no interaction what so ever, not even coming down for food. Then, he had become semi-sociable. Now, he was lounging in the living room waiting, likely for Chris to return around lunch time.

It wasn’t an emotional thing. Peter hadn’t gotten past sass and flirtations with Chris and Chris had little to no idea what Peter did while he was cooped up. They ate together, talked of food, and went their separate ways.

It had to do with what Peter was doing.

\+ Callouses on finger tips (wolf, must be difficult)

\+ requires time

+done alone

It didn’t exactly give him an idea. Peter could be up there writing music and plotting to steal the hearts of young women everywhere and Chris would be unable to stop it.

Chris pocketed the notepad and went back to the woods. He could ponder more upon it later. Peter had promised a good swim afterwards and the hunter was going to give as good as he got.

* * *

And shortly after that, Peter disappeared into his room again.

Only, this time, there was a little thrashing and quite a bit of yelling, though Chris couldn’t make out the words over the sound proofing. And so, Chris ignored it in favor of making fish tacos (as Peter had taught him to), or whatever else he felt like making, and leaving it in front of the wolf’s room. He stopped by like clockwork to drop off food and pick up dishes, figuring that whatever Peter had been up to was coming to a head.

Meanwhile, Chris spent his time around the house, meeting the cleaning staff and grocery delivery girl. He did his laundry and remembered to change his softener brand because the stuff he was using at home was not as good. He discovered that yes, Patrick was the person who did most of the interior decorating and that the back of the pantry was where Patrick kept all of his mage gear. It was an understatement to say he was extremely worried. Chris had been mildly worried when Stiles showed him the grimoires he charmed to look like textbooks. He had been really worried when Stiles mentioned he met a witch on campus who taught him the trick.

The last time Chris had been extremely worried was the Alpha hunt and he was not talking about the time someone kidnapped Talia Hale.

So yes, a magically fortified home, built to withstand the harshest earthquake the San Andreas could throw at them, and sturdy enough to not get picked up by the tornado that would never hit California made him worried. Patrick, not Stiles who was paranoid about everything, but Patrick was the one who set this up.

Chris wondered if that signaled the apocalypse.

Footsteps echoes around the house around nine at night on day three of Peter’s self-imposed lock up. Chris had more television opened on his tablet and he felt a little guilty at putting off yet another day of figuring out what Peter was doing here.

“Tell me, does all the stuff here mean the apocalypse is coming?”

Peter appeared at the top of the stairs, one eyebrow raised and none the worse for the wear. In fact, his goatee was neatly trimmed, better than the stubble building up on Chris’ jaw. “If so, I resent that Talia didn’t tell me.”

Chris closed his tablet and stretched. He’d just finished season five of Breaking Bad and was feeling pretty good about it.

Peter turned into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Unlikely. Patrick and I made sure this house was a haven for the two of us.”

“You two are close?” Chris padded after Peter, only to see the alcoholic open up another bottle of wine.

Peter sprinkled a little powder, soft and white and clearly not cocaine or meth, into his wine glass. “I am known as Derek’s mentor, was Patrick’s first. We designed and built this place together.”

Chris turned down the offered glass. He had to watch himself around the wolf, especially a drunk one. “I’m guessing he’s your favorite.”

“No, my favorite Hale has to be Stiles.” Peter’s face took on a sultry smirk. Chris sighed, remembering the times he got called in to remove “Uncle Creeper”.

“Not yet.”

“Exactly.” Peter drained the glass and poured another one. “Don’t worry. I don’t have designs on his virtue, not that he has any left.”

Chris watched the wolf add a tap of powder to that glass too. The wolf sipped this one, testing, before draining half the glass.

“If you wanted to get drunk fast you should have opted for vodka.”

“I don’t like the taste.” Peter made a face. Around his nose, a small scrunch appeared and disappeared.

Chris wanted the scrunch to come back.

* * *

“I mean it, Christopher. It tastes like sewer water. Why does anyone want to do vodka shots when they could have wine instead?”

The room, dark red and definitely not Patrick’s design, had a tight grip on him. The dark walnut wood, like the rooms outside the door but embellished with gold and the powerful sense of purpose, put him at ease, but the grandiose luxury was something he couldn’t imagine without tainting it into something garish and tasteless. It was something that sprung out of a mind like Peter’s.

“You’re a light weight.”

“Haha, no. I’m angry. I’ve tossed back violet cocoroco and walked the line. You’ve got no idea what a drunk wolf looks like.”

Chris wasn’t so sure he’d agree with that statement because Peter was pink cheeked and curled around the wine bottle on the couch. Well, the couch in Peter’s room, which wasn’t actually a room at all. It was a… parlor? He’d have to ask later.

“Violet?”

“Wolfsbane infused. Powder is called purple, not as tough or as classy.” Peter punctuated his sentence with another drag from the bottle. Chris made a mental note that a “tipsy” Peter was very articulate and much nicer about sharing information.

“What’s driving you to drink yourself to death?” Chris sipped his water (he couldn’t leave Peter to “drink” alone.), waiting for the inevitable “none of your business”.

“Christopher, you know that’s not possible.”

“Chris. My name is just ‘Chris’.” He moved to sit beside Peter on the couch. The wolf scooted over, looking balefully at the glass of water proffered. “Come on.”

Peter relinquished the bottle and downed the water. No complaints or bites. Maybe he was a cookie after all. Or maybe it wasn’t that he was soft on the inside,  just softer than he was outside.

“Peter, tell me.”

The wolf huffed, leaning on Chris and sticking his face in the junction between Chris’ neck and shoulder, breathing deeply. “Come on. You don’t get to play the affectionate drunk card.”

“‘m not drunk.” Peter didn’t move his face though, and the huff of hot air made Chris’ skin tingle. “Jessica hated it.”

“Hated what?”

“My draft. It was pretty good mind you. None of the flowery stuff she hates and more sass and banter than I thought would fit into 250k words with a plot. You’d think she would like it.”

The wolf inhaled.

“But no, she thinks that it’s too wishful. What am I supposed to do with that? How the hell am I supposed to make it not wishful? It’s a book about discovering your soul mate in a person you dismissed as unimportant to your life. It’s about stupidity and expectations. I rewrote it to make it more marketable and it’s getting uglier with each draft. Christopher, I’d stab her for every time she said that I should add a description of abs. No, that’s stupid. The readers can fill that part themselves. That’s the whole point of his character. I can’t even look at him now. He’s some sort of harlequin romance dreamboat. I was writing tasteful literature about the complexity of society and existence and she turns it into a harlequin. I should fire her shouldn’t I? I really should.”

Chris raised his hand to stroke Peter’s hair, like he did when Allison ready to burst into tears after someone did something remarkably stupid. Peter resisted before melting under his touch. Weight pressed into Chris’ side and he tucked his arm over Peter’s shoulder.

“Even Lydia liked it and she calls me a pretentious bastard.” Peter nuzzled into Chris’ neck. The hunter didn’t stop him. Drunk was drunk, even if articulate drunk, no matter what Peter claimed his state was.

“Lydia?”

Peter nodded, something Chris felt rather than saw. “You know how she wanted to win the Fields medal? Well, apparently, she’s done just that. She’s waiting on the official announcement now. Down time is annoying to minds like ours so I enlisted her.”

“You can’t enlist her to do anything.” He knew. Even her school girl crush on him hadn’t worked the last time pixies invaded Beacon Hills.

Peter huffed. The man was practically in his lap now. “I keep her in Jimmy Choo’s. Yes, I can.”

Chris took note of that, not that he would ever be able to afford them. “What did she say?”

“Add a sex scene near the end.” Peter sighed, a warm ghosting of breath over Chris’ shoulder. “I told her that it would cheapen the story. Romance was supposed to take a backseat to the growth of the characters.”

Chris waited for more to come but it didn’t. Instead, they curled up together for heaven knows how long, wondering what to do.

“Go back to your first draft and tell her to back off. It’s your writing after all.”

Peter, previously vibrating under Chris’ fingers, stilled. Chris continued stroking, unsure if he had said the right thing. The wolf pressed into his touch when he slowed his pace, urging him on.

Peter sighed. “I’m taking advice from you on a project you don’t even know about. What is it they say? Achievement unlocked? Friendship bar full?”

Chris stifled his distress. “How long have you been awake?”

“Fifty hours? I showered and ate if that’s what you’re wondering.” Peter rolled over a little, a small smile on his lips and indulgent glimmer in his eyes.

“Good. But, you should sleep.”

Peter weighed his options before he yawned and stretched a little, righting himself and leaving Chris’ side cold. “I should.”

Chris got up, dusting off the imaginary particulates he felt accumulating on his skin and stretching is warm and relaxed muscles. “Good night.”

Peter rose to meet him, placing a quick kiss to the hunter’s cheek. “I’m glad you came after me.”

Chris stared. He felt like he was twenty again, meeting Victoria, who had been older and gorgeous, for the first time. She looked at him appraisingly before saying he was cute and that their children would be deadly and adorable. He felt the same burning in his cheeks and he was twenty years too old for this.

“You’re drunk.”

Peter pressed a kiss to his lips as he pushed Chris out the door. “You really should pay attention when I say I’m not drunk.”

The door closed in his face. Chris stood there, staring at the door, until his heart stilled and he could breathe normally again. The residual touch on his skin burned. He continued to stand there as he realized that he had followed a wolf into its territory without a weapon and let his guard down enough to cuddle with his worst enemy. He was on a first name basis with his enemy.

The short walk back to his room was not enlightening in anyway, but he slept better than any night before.

* * *

He found Peter at breakfast and cursed the fact the wolf was an early riser, when he deigned to make an appearance at all. Chris had actually slept through his internal alarm for once. The feeling, sickly and bitter, settled in his gut even though his body was in better form than ever from eating well every day and exercising regularly in clean air.

Peter, shaved to an extent and looking much too chipper to be sporting a hangover, passed him a plate of huevos rancheros and took his place in the chair next to the hunter. They ate in silence, each motion abortive and careful (Chris) or lingering and warm (Peter).

Their arms brushed when they moved and Chris felt eyes on him as he lifted more egg to his mouth. Instead of acknowledging, he continued eating, planning his day with the brisk determination that was his birthright.

They parted afterwards, Peter going upstairs and Chris outdoors. Chris did not look Peter in the face.

Around noon, Chris returned and found pasta on the counter with his name in familiar, neat script. He ignored it and made a sandwich before heading out the back door and up the mountain.

He returned after eight and found the pasta gone. Fish tacos waited for him instead.

This time he ate them before claiming the couch for more television. Peter didn’t come down.

* * *

Peter didn’t leave a message until the third day and at that point Chris had gone from gay/hunter panic, to ignoring the problem, to outright denial, to reasoning with himself, to some degree of admission, to wondering what Peter was doing upstairs.  It was a journey that took him around the mountain once, around the lake twice, and through another season of Breaking Bad.

\+ Why?

It wasn’t the neat script, but a flourish that made Chris’ heart ache when he recognized it.

Chris scribbled a note in return.

\+ Not yet.

He went out enjoyed the bird song, forgetting for a while that he hadn’t given Peter a real answer, something he didn’t have himself if the increasing number of +’s in his notebook meant what he thought they meant.

\+ When?

\+ Not sure.

\+ Okay.

The notes stopped.

* * *

He felt the warmth on his skin first, before cracking open an eye to see sunlight streaming in. The white sheets pooled around his waist at some point in the night and Chris worked to disengage himself from the mess. The clock read eight a.m. and the same feeling settled into his bones. He was weak, worn, frayed at the edges.

Sitting up, his dislodged a piece of paper from where it had been resting on the bedside table.

“Going back to BH.”

Chris tried to remember the date, but drew a blank. Everything here was too soft, too good, to have a time limit. Giving up, he checked his phone. Exactly two weeks had passed since he started his hunt for Peter Hale.

Chris groaned and tumbled out of bed to shower.

The kitchen was empty, though there was a twenty and instructions to eat at the diner in town and lock up. The library was locked down, as were the other rooms. He figured the house would go into sleep mode, like the note in the kitchen said, the moment he used his key to lock the door, and so took his bag to his car immediately.

Chris lingered around the kitchen for a moment longer, running his fingers over the marble and glass. The house echoed more with only him in it. He locked up and left.

* * *

Allison brushed her fingers up the outside of his leather jacket where they sat side by side against the wall. Two fingers, her index and middle, meaning, “Are you alright?”

Chris nodded, a small movement no one would notice unless they were looking in his direction, and they weren’t. She smiled not letting it reach her eyes, before turning back to the discussion on farm eggs versus café eggs.

Chris waited until the kids filed out into their cars, Allison and Lydia carpooling that morning, to speak with Derek. Sunday morning meetings, better than Friday nights when everyone was beat after a work week or desperate to go out, were a new tradition in Derek’s little crew.

“What’s up with Peter?”

Derek, still in his chair and not facing Chris, snorted. “I don’t know. Ask Patrick.”

“I did. He slammed a door in my face.” Chris grabbed the wolf’s wrist, not surprised when Derek flicked his hand away with a quick snap. “Derek, what is it?”

Derek grumbled into his coffee, eyes brimming with red stolen from the alpha that tore through a few months ago. “No wonder you smell funny.”

“Funny?” The kids would have told him if he smelled funny. They had little to no tact, unless it was Stiles but that was because Stiles had a sense of self-preservation and understood what made people tick. Even if he was a little shit, he was a useful one.

“I didn’t get it at first, but you smell like Peter.” Derek scrunched his nose like he had just imagined what would be required to make the scent stick. Chris got a very unflattering, or flattering depending on how one saw it, image of the situation.

“I haven’t seen him in half a month.”

Derek’s nose scrunched even more and he shook his head, a shiver running down his spine. Chris watched the motion, suddenly a little terrified of what would make the alpha shake. “He must have rubbed himself against you because it’s there.”

“Derek, straight answers would be nice.”

“I’m not nice or straight.” The wolf growled, much to Chris’ annoyance. The kid had never grown out of that.

“You are one of those things. Now, stop trying to be Deaton. It’s not a good look on you.” Derek leaned back, arms crossed and deliberately looking at Chris’ neck with distaste.

“Fine. You’re his mate.”

Chris picked up his coffee, glad it was strong and black and had a kick, and knocked it back before continuing. “I thought that was Gabriella.”

Derek rubbed the back of his neck, gritting his teeth like it physically pained him to talk about Peter’s love life, and it probably did. “It was Gabriella, before the fire. After that, he didn’t talk about it and they didn’t marry.”

“I thought she’d…”

“Died in the fire? There were no casualties. Thank god.” Derek sighed. “She’s married and has three kids. Relax. It’s just something that happens. You two will get over it.”

But Peter hadn’t gotten over “it” if Chris hadn’t seen him around and if Peter didn’t appear within a week, even to rub something in, then that meant he wasn’t scheming, and if he wasn’t scheming, something was wrong. If something was wrong, Chris would bet his antique silver Colt that the “it” Derek was dismissing was the root of the entire domino collapse of “Peter is not alright”.

“Derek, you are not being helpful.”

The wolf growled again, this time huffing in exasperation, like Chris should know better and didn’t.

“Look, Paige was my mate at one point. The fire happened and my mate changed. Stiles is my mate now and forever. We are monogamous creatures, Chris. He didn’t pick her. If he did, he would be crazier than he is now because we don’t let things or people hurt the ones we love. Forget the trial; there wouldn’t be a body to test for evidence.”

“I think that is the most I have ever heard you speak.” And it was to tell me that Peter loves me.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s a critic. Talk to Stiles.” He waved his hand in the general direction of the windows, which Chris assumed meant Stiles was in that general direction.

“What?”

Derek waved the waitress over to pay the bill. “Go.”

* * *

“What can I do for you, Daddy-O?” Stiles asked, surprisingly chipper.

Chris assumed that was because Stiles wanted a distraction from writing his paper as the kid spun in around his computer chair. Chris picked his way across the apartment, almost tripping over a pile of books.

“Don’t call me that.”

Chris had run into Scott on his way up and the kid had let him in with a very confused expression on his face. Otherwise, well, knocking was a questionable option when it came to Stiles. The last time Chris had knocked, the door was electrocuted.

“Okay, Mr. Argent, what’s up?”

Chris sat on the only clean spot in the room, an arm chair by the bed with a jacket that looked like Derek’s tossed over the back. “What does being a mate mean?”

Stiles flailed, arms flying like he was clearing the air of some sort of invisible smoke. “Whoa, okay, tall order there. Did you talk to, Derek?”

“Yes. He told me to find you.”

Stiles cracked his knuckles. “Okay, then where do you want me to start?”

He looked Chris in the eye and Chris was not sure if it was the reminder that he was talking about this with a child that caused him to make a face or that he was talking to Stiles that did, but whichever it was, Stiles breathed deeply, a “here we go” look on his face.

“Or start at the beginning. I can start at the beginning.”

Chris watched as the kid inhaled and felt the room light up. Stiles pointed to a blank wall, where shadows started pooling in figures that looked distinctly familiar, like those of a children’s book Chris had read to Allison when she was little.

Chris raised an eyebrow and Stiles shrugged. “I figured I might as well practice my shadows.”

Stiles drew two wolves out of the shadows. “So, legend goes that there was a wolf, who loved another wolf.”

“However, the wolf’s mate was killed before they could be together. The wolf cried to the moon every night, praying that someone would give it its love back.” The profile of a wolf in howling at a circle came up, small crisp curves forming clouds and spikes as trees.

The image switched to a wolf in full run, majestic and powerful and sleek, but only shadow. “One day, the wolf felt a pull and raced toward it. The wolf travelled day and night for days until it found its mate.”

“The mate was not the love resurrected, but another, a human. The wolf, scared and confused, bit the human woman.” The wolf lunged and attacked the woman’s shoulder, before leaving her on the ground bleeding and screaming for help.

The woman was alone then, walking with a tiredness that soaked into her bones and made Chris feel less alone. “She survived, but was banished for being the wolf’s. The woman felt the pull and traveled many months to find the wolf.”

“When they met again, the wolf was older, more understanding of the gift the moon had given it.” The wolf danced around her until it brushed against her and pressed against her.

“They mated and their children became the first werewolves.” Children, he saw, running around their parents, with ears and tails and the faintest sound of laughter.

“However, the moon was unhappy with the wolf’s reaction and infused a love of the moon, the shift, and of one person, the mate, into their being.” The children, growing up and transforming, shivering with fear and power that they could not contain.

The scene repopulated, with the faint outline of a city and people walking. There was one shadow, very distinctive for a walk that Chris recognized as Stiles’, and another figure that looked like Derek’s profile, bumped into each other. The Derek shadow pulled the Stiles shadow into a kiss, complete with spin and fireworks. Chris would have snorted at the display, if it wasn’t so dramatically adorable.

“Once a werewolf meets their mate and is with them, they are bound for life. They will care for their mate until they die.”

“It doesn’t mean they can’t love other people. Far from it, but it means that that person is the best match for who they are and may become.” Other shadows appeared, each one different and life-like. Lydia’s flipped her hair. Kate’s wielded a lighter. They all faded away.

“Mates can be friends, partners in crime, but are most often lovers.” Chris watched the figures dancing on the wall. A small banner of “No H8” fluttered from a dirigible as little characters danced below. Stiles had, in his way, been all inclusive, and there was a man and a wolf circling each other. The two drew closer and closer, but further away again.

Chris breathed. “I’m Peter’s mate.”

The shadows melted, ripped from the wall.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Peter?”

Chris turned to Stiles, who stared back with wide eyes.

“Creepy Uncle Peter?”

 Chris nodded.

Stiles reached into his pocket. “Oh, this is so funny. I’m going to text Scott.”

Chris picked up a pen from the bedside table and tossed it at Stiles, striking the kid’s hand.

“Don’t tell anyone. Peter isn’t comfortable sharing.”

Stiles nursed his hand, pouting if that was possible, and removed his phone from his pocket anyway. “And I’m not comfortable with his eyes on my butt when I’m clearly a taken man.”

Chris fixed him with the patented Argent Glare, three parts burn, two parts dismissal, and one part hatred.

“Fine.” Stiles scrunched up his nose, taking his fingers off the phone and placing it on his knee. “I won’t tell Scott.”

Chris leaned forward, settling his weight on his knees and steepling his fingers. “How do I fix this?”

“Fix what?”

“Peter’s been avoiding me this past month.”

Stiles groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. “What did you do?”

“Why do you assume I did something?

“You drop the ‘I’m Peter’s mate’ bomb after going on vacation, don’t make that face I was there when Talia got the call from Allison, with him for two weeks and don’t expect me to put two and two together?” Stiles’ voice grew louder, practically a wail. “You must have done something. Wolves try very hard to not offend their mates.”

Chris sighed, something of a habit now, and asked, “Are you sure about that? Derek pushes you into walls.”

Stiles kicked back in his chair and spun one more time. “And I find that very sexy. Think about it. Peter’s never hit under the belt. He’s only thrown you a few times and sulked in the background. Hardly the behavior of a wolf that wants to damage you permanently, if you ask me.”

Stiles, looking very much like Peter in that moment, smiled. “So it has to be your fault. What did you do?”

“Uh...”

“Figures.” Stiles rolled his eyes again, this time looking at the door like he wanted to leave and deal with this later. “What did you do on the trip?”

Chris breathed. “I followed him, with Talia’s permission. He invited me home. We cooked for each other. I made sure he got fed.” I discovered the second library, he didn’t say. “We went hiking and swimming together. He got drunk.”

“I don’t want to hear about your sex life.”

Stiles looked away, checking his phone. Chris went on, “No sex. We talked.”

He ranted about his writing and it took me a few hours to figure out who he was based on the books in the library, he doesn’t say. And when I got back here, I read them all because he was ignoring me and I wanted to hear his voice again. He didn’t say it.

“You mean you cuddled.”

“What?”

Stiles waved his phone in Chris’ general direction, expecting him to read it. Chris sighed and tried to read the small text. From ten feet away, he made out nothing but scribbles and the name Peter because it was in capitals. “Derek just texted, saying you smelled like Peter. You two totally cuddled.”

“And then he kissed me.” It was an important thing to mention.

“Wow, pardon my French, but you fucked up.” Stiles took in the unimpressed glare and waved his arm in a dismissing motion. “No, like you legit fucked up.”

“Stiles, explain.” Chris pinched the bridge of his nose trying to will away the desire to inject Stiles with sodium thiopental to make him talk.

Stiles grumbled like he was the one truly exasperated here. “Damn Peter’s secrets. Talia wouldn’t have let you go alone if she knew. Okay, let me think of a way to do this.”

“Stiles.”

“No. Thinking.” The kid drew himself up like a school teacher ready to lecture his students. “Okay, remember my courtship with Derek?”

“Yes, I supervised.” It had been date after date after adventure in the woods. Chris would never forget the worst three months of his life.

“Because I was so much younger. Right.” Stiles swallowed.

Chris narrowed his eyes.

Stiles went on, “So, step one was when I got permission from the alpha to work with Derek. Second, I invited Derek into my room. Not him breaking in, me letting him in.”

Oh, that had been one of the worst meetings between the Argents and Hales he had ever seen. It was “Cold War meetings between Russia and the US” level if Derek and his history degree were to be believed. “Your father was angry because you initiated the ritual without realizing it.”

“The next was him bringing me food and making sure I ate. Showing he could take care of me.”

“You were just sharing curly fries.” They had gone to the diner for dinner. Stiles had been cut off by the waitress, and Derek had shoved his tray at Stiles with a small smile Chris was sure he was never meant to see from the darkness of the parking lot.

“Exactly, even a little counts.” Stiles started tapping his foot, a sign that Chris had been there for more than a half hour already. “He shows that he can care for my family by taking care of my dad.”

Derek had become a deputy instead of using his history degree to become a teacher. A good call Chris thought since the kid had double majored in criminology and history and only one was going to guarantee little interaction with children and their mothers on a daily basis.

“Then, we started spending more time together and he started sniffing me.”

Chris remembered watching Derek sniffing, more stuffing his face in Stiles’ neck, Stiles back when he first met the two. “You weren’t eighteen yet.”

“Sniffing isn’t illegal, and it’s flattering to find out someone thinks you smell like rainbows and shit like that.” Stiles waved his hand, dismissing that point. “He showed weakness in front of me and I in front of him. We rescued one another to prove our prowess in battle.”

“Wait… all this happened before you graduated.”

“Yeah.”

“Why did I have to follow you around for three months?”

Stiles flushed, remembering the catastrophe, at least Chris thought it was a catastrophe, that was his last three months of his freshman year. “Talia wanted it all official and we hadn’t actually had sex so we weren’t officially romantic mates yet.”

Chris ignored the feeling that came from the  fact that he let his underlings run the shop for three months while working pack business, only to now realize that it was completely unnecessary because the kids had more or less gotten wolf-married before the younger one finished high school. It felt like the desire to smash something combined with the desire to crawl into a closet and cry.

He settled and asked, “That’s all you need for a courtship?”

Stiles nodded, not at all phased, probably very pleased really, by the grimace on Chris’ face. “Yeah, and if you think about that vacation…”

“Fuck.” Chris dropped his head into his hands.

Stiles, the little shit he was, kept talking. “The final part and you panicked right before. I’d be pretty pissed about it too, especially because I know you’ve seen a mating ritual.”

“It wasn’t in order.”

Stiles shot back. “Doesn’t have to be. Usually is though.”

“I didn’t think that it would be that easy.” Chris stood, running his hands through his hair. He had almost mated Peter Hale. He had almost mated the wolf that made sure, and by made sure he meant called up one of the best lawyers in the country to consult on the case, that Kate was put away forever.

 “You didn’t think at all from the looks of it.” Stiles chuckled.

Chris stalked cross the room. A wall stopped him. Damn witch’s wards.

“Okay, lay off the Stiles. I have a werewolf boyfriend who is very happy ripping throats.”

Chris felt the wards back down and the wall fade. He turned and walked away before he gave his mate’s nephew a reason to kill him.

He heard Stiles call after him. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

* * *

“Peter, look.” Chris knocked on the door to Peter’s flat again, backing up as it opened. “I didn’t think.”

Peter looked him over before snapping. “That makes two of us. Now leave.”

“Peter.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. The wolf’s eyes turned bright neon cyan and Chris recognized the extended fangs. “Leave, before I rip your throat out with my teeth.”

The door slammed in his face.

So that’s where Derek got it from.

* * *

“He wouldn’t have gone through with it.” Stiles was eating, probably curly fries.

Chris ignored the slightly squishy sound of each word. “How do you know? He seemed pretty damn willing.”

“Mates don’t hurt their intended and despite your royal fuck up, you are his intended.” He heard the hollow sound of someone trying to get the last drops of a drink out of a cup via straw. “Can you blame the guy though? You’re the one who really kicks in the courtship and then backs out.”

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose as he heard giggling from downstairs. The girls, meaning any female in relation to the Derek pack under the age of thirty, were having a girl’s night, which meant watching the Notebook and eating a scary amount of ice cream and popcorn. He would have to vacuum kernels out of the carpet after the inevitable popcorn fight.

“I thought you were all about consent.”

Stiles chimed in, brighter at the mention of his part time job as a phone-line operator. “I am. I’m also all about keeping my eyes open as I go in and giving status updates.”

“You didn’t realize you were courting Derek.” Chris closed the door to his office and sighed as it peacefully eliminated the background noise.

“To be fair, Derek didn’t realize I was courting Derek. His mom told him after she caught us making out at the theater.”

Chris put the phone on his shoulder as he cleaned his guns, idly sweeping away the residues. The motions were repetitive and the click clacks soft.

“When did you get so good at this?”

Stiles laughed. “When Peter decided that mentoring Derek was less fun that mentoring me.”

“I thought you hated him.”

“Shh, that’s our cover. This mentor thing is a secret and I have to kill you now.” Always with the dramatics. Chris wasn’t a secret spy for the CIA, no matter what Rafael McCall or Danny, and therefore Stiles, thought.

“You…”

Stiles cut him off. “Before you ask, I’m not allowed to put in a good word for you. You’re going to have to win him back the old fashioned way.”

“What?”

“Redo the courtship.” Stiles popped the “p”. “Show him that you mean it.”

Chris paused. “I don’t know if I mean it.”

Stiles was silent. Dead silent and Chris wondered if he had been disconnected. He listened carefully for anything that sounded like breathing.

“I will choose him over you.”

“Stiles.”

“Bye.”

“Stiles.”

Chris heard the tell-tale bleep of a person hanging up. He locked his phone and sat back in his chair.

Peter was… they’d never spoken much, just on pack business where Peter was as ruthless as his alpha, before the trip. But, Peter was something. He was wild and a little crazy, but he was also tender and teasing. He liked the finest things in life, but he seemed so ready to take off into the woods and live off the land, and Chris had caught him thinking just that several times. Peter was a good chef, even if he only did it to entertain and please others. He loved Chris’ heavy style of cooking, which had never been popular with his family because they loved everything spicy and light. They were friends, sort of. Chris… Chris didn’t love Peter, but he couldn’t help but think that he could.

After all, the wolf had already taken a bite of his heart and run away with it.

* * *

\+ Invitation (hardest part?)

\+ Care for the Hales/Peter

\+ Find some way to show weakness (hardest part)

\+ Help/rescue your partner

\+ Scenting.

* * *

He had asked Talia, who had raised a perfectly kept eyebrow before turning him down. He’d then asked for permission to try to make things better and that had gone much better. Phrasing was key.

He brought his stuffed burgers and two dozen lava cakes to the Hale Halloween party. Peter didn’t show up, though he did see photos of Peter dressed in a dark suit and wielding a wicked pitchfork on Allison’s Instagram with the tagline “Having some punch with the devil himself”.

He’d gotten hurt in a battle Peter was in and managed to rescue Peter from the jaws of the chimera. All in all, it was a good day’s work. Only, when he turned around, the Hales were brushing dust off their clothes and Peter was nowhere to be found.

He couldn’t get close to Peter, much less scent him.

Three weeks into the endeavor, he called Stiles.

“Stiles, I’m running into the same wall.”

A sleepy voice, rough and definitely not Stiles, answered. “It’s for you.”

“What?” A voice that definitely was Stiles grew louder as the kid spoke into the phone. “What the hell do you want?”

“It’s not working.”

“Why?”

Not “It’s two a.m. and I have class tomorrow.” Not “You woke Derek and that is not good.” Not “Peter doesn’t want to talk to you, you asshole.” Chris felt something crisp blossom in his chest and he thought it felt like hope.

“Peter has to do something in return.”

Stiles groaned and there was the thumping sound of a body hitting the bed. “He doesn’t have to.”

“I’m his mate.”

He heard a slapping sound from the other end of the line. “But you’re not the only person in the world. God, it’s like you’re an idiot. He has to actually like you. Have you even apologized to him?”

“No.”

“Then do it,” Stiles snapped. “Stop calling me at night.”

* * *

“Peter.”

The autumn wind, sharp and cold, cut across his cheek as he stood in the alley next to Peter’s apartment. The window was dark and the lights were off, but the wolf had nowhere else to be that night and Chris guessed that he was at home. The rocks he’d thrown at the window got him no response, but he’d tried anyway.

Chris inhaled.

“Just hear me out. I don’t have an excuse for hurting you; I should have known better. All I know is that I like you and I want you to be happy. I don’t know if I can make you happy like you deserve, but if we end up anything like Derek and Stiles, then yes we will be. Peter, I like you. I really do. It’s not love, yet, but it could be. I tried courting you, Peter. I really tried this time. The entire family knows that I’m your mate now and I can’t make myself sorry for that. You are amazing. You’re smart and wicked and everything I could have ever wanted from a mate. We could be friends first. If you want, we can do that.”

He tossed another rock. “Come on. Open your window. I know you can hear me. Please, Peter, let me in. I’m sorry.”

“It would be much more dramatic if you realized I was over here.”

Chris turned.

Peter melted out of the shadows, leather jacket in place, hair a little mussed and eyes lined with something that brought out the deep green. A wicked smile graced his lips as he stepped into the half-moon light. He wore the v-neck that almost reached his stomach that Chris had ribbed him about the second day Peter decided to be sociable. The one Chris liked, but found sinfully extravagant outside private use. God, no wonder Peter had rolled his eyes at him.

Chris sniffed the air and picked up the faintest scent of alcohol. Peter had been out and about and people had seen him dressed like a present wrapped just for Chris. A stab of want hit him in the gut and he could barely breathe. “Did you hear that? All of it?”

Peter chuckled, dark and smoky. “You sounded like a child trying to win a grade school paramour.”

“I didn’t get a lot of experience.”

Peter stepped into his personal space. “No, you didn’t.”

“Do over?” Chris wrapped his arm around Peter’s waist, not pressing, just asking.

“Of course you would make it sound like a kindergarten tussle.” Peter pressed his face to Chris’ neck and breathed.

“Do over.”

* * *

“I like it.”

Chris surveyed their version of the “Hale-Safe”

(“No, Patrick, we are not calling it that.” Peter sniffed at that and any other variation of pun upon the Hale name. “It’s bad enough Laura started a restaurant called Hale and Hearty.”

“Peter, think about it.” Patrick splattered them with paint as he waved the brush. “Sorry, uh… It’s perfect though. It is fail safe number two. Hale-safe number two.”

“No, Patrick. I have to agree with Peter on this one.” Derek went back to painting the wall a deep currant color. “Are we going to do the gold part ourselves?”

“No, I have a selkie who agreed to help with that.” Peter went back to lounging on the chair he had dragged out of the way of paint splatters. “Chris?”

“I agree. No ‘Hale-Safe’.”

Patrick splattered most of them with paint again. “None of you are any fun. I should have stayed home with Lydia.”

Alpha Hale liked Hale-Safe. They all realized where Patrick got his sense of humor from.)

 library.

The selkie had come through with the gold and the walls were now sporting a delicate coppery pattern that would have been enviable on wallpaper, which Peter hated with a fury Chris had thought was reserved for people trying to set him on fire, but was practically drool worthy in paint detail.

The entire house was dressed in warm colors, mostly beige and burgundy. Chris had gone on a five hour floor hunt for the cherry wood flooring. It had taken another hour to find someone who would make a floor piece that was a triskele in oak in cherry, then another to negotiate the creation of several of them.  

They scoured the internet, getting more comfortable with etsy and designer sites than Chris ever wanted to be, and had burnished copper pieces made. Each aspect was part of the lap of luxury Peter demanded and Chris agreed to.

Though, he did get control of the attic, basement, garage, and kitchen, since he did most of the cooking now. All still in the same red-cream scheme, but starker with crimson and eggshell paired with dark walnut wood.

“It’s ours.” Chris would have called it a cabin, but that sounded like someone was going to be murdered (not that that wasn’t going to happen, it was very likely to happen considering the total number of people pissed off between them) there. Peter hated the word cottage because his sprawling mansion of gold and wine was not a cottage. Mansion was too pretentious, even for Peter, and house didn’t feel right for the kind of grandeur they had put together.

“All ours.”

Peter kissed him, different from the first time. Peter didn’t hesitate and there was nothing but the press of soft lips against his with the promise of so much more. Chris pressed back and felt Peter open up under him, felt his body adjust to take Peter’s weight.

Peter pulled back and smiled honest and real in a way that had Chris feeling like he had just come home.

Suddenly, he felt at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will post all the stuff I used as reference for this sometime in the future along with stories of how this turned out to be, because some of them are pretty funny. 
> 
> I've mostly watched interviews so if they sound more like JR and Ian, I'm very sorry. Also, about the 13k mark, it started devolving very quickly. I'm very sorry for putting you through this. 
> 
> In the meanwhile, I would like to thank [goddessofcruelty](http://goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com), who writes amazing [fic's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/works) and is a huge inspiration to me. Before you ask, no, I will never stop being amazed that Avith talks to me at all. I would also like to say that I borrow points from [Play it Again](http://archiveofourown.org/works/862320/chapters/1652969) because that fic has more influence on my headcanon than any other. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Himitsu is on tumblr.](http://himitsutsubasa.tumblr.com)


	2. References

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I told you all I would post all the references I used, which will probably include recipes and such. I didn't get much citation done, mostly focusing on doing things quick and dirty. Lots of links, friends.

**[Master](http://sta.sh/22c0vmnkzdh5) **

This contains everything. When I say everything, I mean everything. Not many explanations though.

Title

_Funeral Blues_

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,  
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,  
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum  
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.  
  
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead  
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.  
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,  
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.  
  
He was my North, my South, my East and West,  
My working week and my Sunday rest,  
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;  
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.  
  
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,  
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,  
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;  
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W.H. Auden

[Initial Choices](http://sta.sh/21unldaqvvhr)

So I had some initial inspiration out of these rooms. Mainly that they were warm and cosy and got me thinking about what Peter would have been like before the fire and that is how this fic happened. It was supposed to be Peter cuddling up and 2k max, then I got Chris involved and it was supposed to be 5k max. Well, that didn't happen.

[House](http://sta.sh/227owcg15wk9)

 

THE HOUSE. This part was the biggest part of the story and it was the most important part to me. I love architecture. I love it. I don't think you get the level of love I have for architecture. (I'm not an architect.) I chose something early on and decided to roll with it. Of course, it was minimalist and sleek because I imagined Peter to grow up that way.

However, after [asking Avith](http://goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com/post/93153328626/just-wondering-do-you-think-no-fire-peter-would-have), I really went for contrast between Patrick's choices and Peter's choices. I imagined the two would be similar smart and cunning, but Patrick is lawful good while Peter is chaotic good. (It's canonical because he was a chaotic good pre-fire and a chaotic evil as an alpha. Now, he's more a chaotic neutral, fighting to survive.) That's why the didn't get on as well as they could have even though their intelligence catches like a house on fire. Derek is more a neutral good, trying but not perfect (canon). Stiles is definitely chaotic, which is why Peter likes him. Chris is a lawful good, and Peter would resent it if Chris' code  wasn't so loose. ("Protect those who cannot protect themselves" doesn't exactly have strict sub-clauses.)

Patrick and Peter both appreciate an aesthetic that makes people uncomfortable in one way or another. Patrick's style is unsettling because it is so in touch with the wildness of nature, while being intensely controlling (see the shower, which was actually Patrick's idea but Peter-supported). Peter's is domineering. Baroque and unsettling because the power is palatable (also, that red spot could be a wine stain or a blood stain, you don't know). I couldn't find anything that fit what I wanted for the final scene (and I wasn't going to redecorate my house to do that) so I don't have those for you. Sorry. 

[Food](http://sta.sh/235tk6u72w7)

 

Food played a major role in this story and that was mostly the fault of my situation as I wrote it. I had an internship and the food there was wonderful. Seriously mouth watering stuff. So it really influenced me to feed them and feed them well.

The vineyard I mentioned is not real, but "Villa de Esperanza" means "town of hope", which I hoped would carryover into the characters. Cabernets are supposed to be good with steak and California's wine country is wonderful. (Visiting Napa is something I recommend. Chris' ideas are actually what my aunt thought after going to a wine tasting and tour last summer.)

Yes, I love lifehacks. The chocolate bowl did not make it to the final cut (I substituted the lava cake.), but it was an idea.

I put the recipes in the links, but will also put them here. 

Chris' Burgers

2 ServingsPrep/Total Time: 25 min.

Ingredients

  * 1 tablespoon finely chopped onion
  * 1 tablespoon ketchup
  * 1 teaspoon prepared mustard
  * 1/4 teaspoon salt
  * 1/8 teaspoon pepper
  * 1/2 pound ground beef
  * 1/4 cup finely shredded cheddar cheese
  * 2 hamburger buns, split
  * Lettuce leaves and tomato slices, optional



Directions

  * In a small bowl, combine the first five ingredients.
  * Crumble beef over mixture and mix well. Shape into four thin patties.
  * Sprinkle cheese over two patties.
  * Top with remaining patties and press edges firmly to seal.
  * Grill, covered, over medium heat for 6 minutes on each side or until a meat thermometer reads 160° and juices run clear.
  * Serve on buns with lettuce and tomato if desired.
  * Yield: 2 servings.



 

Nutritional Facts: 1 burger (calculated without optional ingredients) equals 357 calories, 15 g fat (7 g saturated fat), 84 mg cholesterol, 787 mg sodium, 25 g carbohydrate, 1 g fiber, 28 g protein.  _Diabetic Exchanges: 3 lean meat, 1-1/2 starch,_

Read more: <http://www.tasteofhome.com/recipes/cheese-stuffed-burgers-for-two#ixzz3AWz4ITx0>

(The secret ingredient is something that I learned from my mother's friend and I'm not going to tell you because it's a _secret_.)

Chris' Lava Cake

Total Time:  
44 min  
Prep:  
30 min  
Cook:  
14 min  
Yield:6 cakes  
Level:Easy  
Ingredients  
  
6 (1-ounce) squares bittersweet chocolate  
2 (1-ounce) squares semisweet chocolate  
10 tablespoons (1 1/4 stick) butter  
1/2 cup all-purpose flour  
1 1/2 cups confectioners' sugar  
3 large eggs  
3 egg yolks  
1 teaspoon vanilla extract  
2 tablespoons orange liqueur  
Directions  
  
Preheat oven to 425 degrees F.  
  
Grease 6 (6-ounce) custard cups. Melt the chocolates and butter in the microwave, or in a double boiler. Add the flour and sugar to chocolate mixture. Stir in the eggs and yolks until smooth. Stir in the vanilla and orange liqueur. Divide the batter evenly among the custard cups. Place in the oven and bake for 14 minutes. The edges should be firm but the center will be runny. Run a knife around the edges to loosen and invert onto dessert plates.  
© 2014 Television Food Network, G.P. All Rights Reserved.  
  
Read more at: http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/paula-deen/molten-lava-cakes-recipe.print.html?oc=linkback

[Items](http://sta.sh/2l7x869eg8b)

 

So here is where _my_ personality comes through. Yes, I'm the influence behind Patrick's stuff. Why? Because I can. Most of what I've chosen comes from my own nerdy background (I'm the strange crossbreed between a scientist and a fandomer. So yes, lots of science going on in my head as I write.) The earl grey soap pictured above did not make the final cut, sadly. I swapped it for coconut because I thought the tea might be a little too much.

[Art](http://sta.sh/21bsol5rtpgc)

 

I didn't look to closely here. The images are mostly from my love of contrast. Of course, the transition came when Stiles' mother got sick. This would be one of the earlier works.

[Character](http://sta.sh/21rt632b9dxz)

 

So these two, these two DILF's are the bane of my existence. These are the gifs that I used to imagine what they looked like, though Peter was a little more fuzzy around the jaw in my head.

I also found some cute pics in the meanwhile that influenced what I thought of the characters.

Someone shoot me.

Here, have a cute puppy, who also didn't make the final cut.


End file.
